


A Hundred Interruptions

by PinboardButterfly



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), yeah i know what year it is but im still posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26201470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinboardButterfly/pseuds/PinboardButterfly
Summary: Every time Dorian thinks he's got the Commander to himself, the universe feels the need to prove him wrong.(Or - Dorian attempts, numerous times, to ask Cullen for a dance at The Winter Palace).
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Sera
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	A Hundred Interruptions

**Author's Note:**

> pin, posting a cullrian fic in 2020? it's more likely than you'd think. following the behind the scenes teaser for dragon age 4 a couple of days ago (hype), i went digging in my old dragon age fics and found this that i'd written back in 2018. it needed a tiny bit of tweaking but really its almost the same as when i found it. can't wait to dive back into the dragon age world when the next game comes out !

It was getting late when Dorian Pavus finally felt the drink kicking in. _And it’s about damn time, too_ , he thought, delicately swiping another glass from a passing waiter as she flitted about the gardens. The Winter Palace was positively thrumming with anticipation as to the outcome of the peace talks, and yet here Dorian was, outside under the stars, completely ignoring it all. Of course, he wasn’t ignoring the Great Game entirely; he was playing it even when he was trying not to. He already had a few of the Baronesses in his pocket – and a Comte; should he feel the desire later to draw upon that particular favour, the Comte had made that incomparably clear that he would be available.

And he was decidedly ready to spring into action should the Inquisitor need him, that was undisputed, too, of course. But there was nothing here tonight that caught his eye outwith his duties. He had hoped to find something really worth his time. Four or five drinks in, he wasn’t even sure what that really meant.

Distract himself, ideally, from the way that his mind wandered to the well-dressed ex-Templar he could spy beyond the garden doors. It wasn’t _fair;_ the way Cullen blushed and stuttered in response to his flirting, the way he _insisted_ on their weekly meetings in Skyhold’s gardens to play chess, the way he left new books in Dorian’s corner of the library and then pretended they weren’t from him. It was simply too endearing to ignore. Perhaps Dorian would be brave tonight. A little liquid courage would do the trick; ask the Commander for an obligatory dance and offhandedly mention that he was more than free to repeat the affair outwith the confines of The Winter Palace. 

Or perhaps he would be sensible, and hold his foolish tongue. After all, Cullen may have been sweet, but he had never returned Dorian’s advances. There was no point in making the poor man uncomfortable, and certainly not in public. Oh, but how Dorian did love to see him blush. He had admitted this much to the Inquisitor, drunk over a bottle of aggregio in her quarters late one night. She had found his little crush endlessly entertaining, and teased him about it mercilessly.

Absently Dorian toyed with the wine glass between his fingers and straightened his attire for the thousandth time that evening. If his mother were here she would be hounding him to keep clean lines, ensure his posture was faultless, and to always maintain a smile on one’s face, even if you understood that something was about to go terribly wrong. It just wouldn’t do to let on _how_ in the know you really were. Dorian rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. His mother wasn’t even here, and yet he felt her presence like a shroud. Typical.

“Hello, Dorian.”

He started at Lavellan suddenly to his left; the delicate elven rogue appearing as if from thin air – which, when they fought side by side, he swore once or twice she really did. She stared up at him with those big amber eyes of hers and sipped at her own drink, a little anxiously. It was painfully obvious she wasn’t suited to being here. Every moment or two she would twitch her fingers and roll her shoulders, desperate to affirm that her daggers were still there, concealed beneath her attire should she need them.

Dorian chuckled softly, after recovering from his surprise. “Inquisitor. I wondered when I’d see you. Are you enjoying yourself? Is everyone playing nicely?”

Lavellan snorted and downed the rest of her glass. “You know better than to ask that, Dorian. Honestly, I’ve seen enough of this place in the last few hours to last me a lifetime. If I never have to politically manoeuvre the fate of Orlais again, with each of my advisors giving me conflicting guidance on what to do, I’d be a happy woman.”

“A wish I’d be only too happy to grant for you if I could, Inquisitor. It’s not all bad, though. How are things going in the ballroom?”

“Honestly? It’s a mess. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. I have no tact. Give me a blade and point me at the enemy and I’m your woman. Stuff me in this ridiculous suit and ask me to not-speak with nobles whilst trying to _prevent_ an assassination, and I’m at a loss.”

Dorian couldn’t supress a laugh. “You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like our dear Sera. Speaking of which–”

“Yes, Dorian, I’ve asked her to dance.” Lavellan rolled her eyes. “It was the first bloody thing I managed. I don’t want any of these pompous Orlesian lords getting bright ideas.”

“Marvellous. You do know _how_ to dance, yes?” When she didn’t respond straight away, Dorian tutted. “Oh my, that simply won’t do. You must have Leliana teach you. She was a bard, you know? Or Josephine, if she can spare a moment.”

“Dorian. I don’t have the time to learn how to dance. I’m trying to save Orlais from being thrown into political turmoil, remember?”

Dorian waved dismissively. “Pfft. Sure, that’s important, but do you _really_ want to dance with Sera in front of all these people for the first time and step all over her toes? Positively _mortifying_ – for you, _and_ for her.”

“Oh, hush.” Lavellan smacked Dorian gently on the arm with the back of her hand. “You’re making me nervous. And I do recall I’m not the only one hoping for a dance tonight.”

“Oh?” Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “And who do you suppose I’m waiting on, hm, hiding out here in the gardens alone?”

Lavellan laughed. “Don’t make me expose you. I’ll do it. I will. Just – just go talk to him, alright? I’m busy saving the Maker damned country, the least you can do tonight is to ask him for a dance.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Dorian rebuffed, feigning ignorance.

Lavellan laughed, and began to turn away. “I’m sure you don’t. If I were you, I’d hurry. One of the Orlesian noblemen is about two drinks away from proposing.”

Dorian sighed and watched the Inquisitor’s retreating figure, shaking his head.

“Well, that just simply won’t do, will it?”

Dorian on his heel, dumped his empty glass in a flower bed, and set off in the direction of the ballroom.

By the time he made it inside, Dorian was sure the alcohol was working its magic. A very special kind of magic, that he had come to associate with some of his best times at these awful, decadent parties where all he wanted was an interesting companion and some peace and quiet. Tonight, if he was lucky, he might just get both.

Commander Cullen Rutherford had amassed quite the crowd. Orlesian men and women all vying for his attention were cut short when Dorian approached and curled his fingers discreetly within his sleeve. The air around them shimmered, and they dispersed quickly, most making breathy exclamations of fright. He had long since mastered casting Horror in the most inconspicuous manner possible. It had come in handy in several situations thus far, and had proved such again.

Dorian shot Cullen a winning smile as he approached. The man looked stunning in the military-style formal wear; it was no wonder half the court had flocked to him. Even Dorian couldn’t deny that the Commander was the most attractive man at the Winter Palace tonight – after himself, of course. Cullen, however, did not look happy to see him.

“Dorian.” His tone was warning as they met. “Magic, in the middle of the ballroom?! Do you _want_ to get us arrested?”

“Now, now – I thought you’d be pleased!”

“Pleased?! You could’ve been _caught_!”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “My dear Commander, sometimes I forget that you used to be a Templar. Listen – I’ve been practising magic since I could walk, let alone _speak_. We wouldn’t have got caught.”

“You don’t know that!”

“And anyways, don’t you owe me some sort of thanks? I just saved you from all of those feinting Orlesians. Given them a bit more time and they would have started to get annoyed, I guarantee.”

At least with this, Cullen seemed to agree. He cleared his throat, a little awkwardly, and nodded. “Ah – well, yes, I suppose I do owe you my thanks. Thank you. They were indeed beginning to get… overbearing.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear Commander.” Dorian smiled. “Now, how about we get you out of here? In case they come back?”

Cullen wavered. “But, the Inquisitor–”

“Will find you if she has need of you, I’m sure. Do try to _enjoy_ yourself this evening, won’t you?” Dorian extended his arm and smiled. “The fate of Orlais can wait for a little while, don’t you think?”

Again, the tiniest bit of hesitation. Dorian wondered, for the briefest of moments, if perhaps he had overstepped a little too far this time. But just as he was about to withdraw, Cullen took his arm. Dorian was surprised. He gave the Commander’s arm a reassuring squeeze with his own – Maker be damned the man was _beautiful_ – and tugged him in the direction of one of the outer balconies. And, praise be, when they stepped outside, it was empty. Dorian unentwined himself from Cullen to close the doors behind them.

“I admit, it does feel good to get some fresh air.”

Dorian turned to see Cullen leaning on the balustrade, gazing out at the falling night. Lights illuminated his features, catching the flicks of his curls and the lining of his attire and turning them a bright, honey gold. Dorian let out a quiet breath and ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps he’d had a little too much drink for this. His imagination was running wild.

“Yes, well, I’m sure it does. I find that myself after being surrounded by Orlesian decadence. Somewhat stuffy, and just that tad too arrogant.”

Cullen chuckled, and Dorian joined him by the balustrade. “Go on then. You’re expecting me to believe Tevinter décor is completely modest by comparison?”

“Why, Commander, you _wound_ me. Yes, Tevinter is decadent, I concede that much. But at least we have good _taste_. How these Orlesians can slap a lion on everything and call it art I’ll never understand.”

A real laugh escaped Cullen and Dorian was pleased to hear it. What he wouldn’t give to see the man smile a bite more in his life. From what he’d heard of his long and troubled past from Varric and Leliana, Cullen could use it. Dorian was loathed to inquire further after Leliana had mentioned their encounter at the Circle whilst she’d been traveling in the company of the Hero of Ferelden. In fact, Dorian wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle the answers he was looking for, even if he managed to ask the questions. He wasn’t entirely sure Cullen could face it being dragged back up again either.

A lull in the conversation meant that Cullen had returned to gazing out at the night sky. For the first time in a long time, Dorian didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He just leant forwards, mimicking Cullen’s pose to a degree, and joined him in appreciating the view.

“You know, we’ve come so far.” Cullen didn’t look at him as he spoke. “The Winter Palace, I mean. When I was a child, I’d never have imagined I’d be standing here today.”

“No, I rather think you wouldn’t have. Your head would have been stuffed full of nonsense about joining the Templars.”

Cullen breathed a laugh. “You’re right. For a long time, it was the only goal I’d ever wanted to achieve. And I don’t regret it. My time with the Chantry was… enlightening, to say the least. I just wish it hadn’t ended in such madness.”

The words left Dorian’s mouth before he could stop them. “Enlightening? You must be joking. If you’d never joined those sanctimonious fools you never would have been tortured, never would have had to betray your own Knight-Commander, and never would have got addicted to lyrium. Which damned part of that was _enlightening_?”

Cullen stared at him, glossy-eyed. Dorian’s heart skipped, mouth moving soundlessly in a useless attempt to apologise. Damn the drink. Damn these feelings. Damn it all. He could quite literally feel his stomach turning. What a thing to say.

“Commander, I – I’m sorry, I–”

“You _knew_?”

Cullen’s question caught Dorian off-guard. “I – what? Ah… yes, I knew. I’m sorry.”

Dorian wanted to apologise again, but he knew if he did, it would make the apology sound empty, so he just bit his lip and waited to hear what Cullen had to say. For a long minute, Cullen said nothing at all.

“Do you like me, Dorian?”

Dorian choked. “I – I think that depends entirely on the context, Commander.”

“Dorian.”

Cullen’s gloved hand wrapped delicately about his wrist, resting on the balustrade. Dorian glanced down at the contact, then up to Cullen’s face, then back down again. He was altogether confused. When had this conversation got so far away from him?

“Well, I’d thought that was obvious,” Dorian managed at last. “And I also thought it obvious that the feelings were non-reciprocal, so I’d left it at that. After all, I think we all know our dear Commander has a doomed crush on a particular glowing elf. But perhaps I was mistaken.”

Cullen sighed and let go of Dorian’s wrist. His fingers twitched against the stone balustrade, suddenly desperate for the contact he hadn’t realised he’d been craving.

“This is a mess.”

“Halamshiral, or your love life in general?”

Cullen chuckled mirthlessly. “Both. All of it. Everything.”

“Chin up, Commander. The night is still young.”

“And tell me – how did you know? About the Circle, the… lyrium. Who told you?”

Dorian sighed. “A combination of a few things. I mean, you’re a former Templar, and of course I’d heard Varric mention your involvement with Hawke in Kirkwall. Some stories here and there, recruits turning into abominations, that kind of thing. Leliana told me about the Circle, and the lyrium… well, I sort of figured out for myself.”

“That obvious, huh?” Cullen ran a hand wearily through his hair. “And here I thought I was getting better.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong – you look far healthier than the first times our paths crossed. But yes, I’ve seen the effects of lyrium addiction before. Your eyes, _amatus_ , they gave you away.”

Dorian froze. He’d just called Cullen _amatus_. A tiny slip of the tongue, but all the same, had instantly betrayed his feelings. It felt like this was nowhere near the last time he’d be cursing the drink tonight.

But Cullen hadn’t seemed to notice. “My eyes?” A hand went up to gently touch the area.

“Ah – yes. Red, raw – puffier than Leliana’s after Schmooples died.” Dorian forced a smile to conceal his relief. “You get the picture. Not a pretty sight, sometimes. You hadn’t noticed?”

“Honestly, when you’re going through withdrawals, your appearance is the least of your concerns. And there are no mirrors in my quarters at Skyhold.”

“Fair point. It’s a miracle how you look presentable at all. No matter. It’s all in the past now, anyway. And you’re still as pretty as the day we met.”

Cullen flushed scarlet. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Is water wet? Is Lavellan gay?”

“Point taken.”

“And for what it’s worth, Commander – none of those things affect my perception of you, you know. I wouldn’t want you to think that just because I know one or two things that happened in your past, I’ve seen myself as fit to judge.”

Cullen smiled, a real, genuine smile. “I didn’t think that, but thank you, Dorian, all the same.”

“Well, this has been a resounding disaster,” Dorian sighed, leaning back off of the balustrade. “What say I nip back inside and find us a bottle of wine?”

Cullen looked relieved. “Maker, _yes_.”

It took Dorian approximately six seconds to locate a servant who was making rounds of the ballroom with a tray of glasses, and then a further ten to persuade the young lad to bring him a bottle back from the kitchens. A minute and a half later Dorian was striding back out onto the balcony with a wine bottle under his arm and two glasses, one in each hand. He was not pleased by what he found.

Josephine was standing beside Cullen, a ravishing Orlesian woman on her arm dressed in swathes of silk and corsetry and wearing an exquisite silver mask. From the look on Cullen’s face, none of this was impressing him. The poor woman. She was acting on her best behaviour, too. Dorian knew the look well.

He strode up, sat the bottle and the glasses on the balustrade to Cullen’s right, and then as tactfully as he was able, (he cleared his throat loudly several times, each to little affect but the last) entered his way into the conversation, despite Josephine’s threatening looks.

“Ser Dorian of House Pavus, at your service.”

He bowed low, kissed the Orlesian woman’s gloved hand, and shot her his best smile. She twittered and flushed, just as she had been taught to do, fanning herself avidly with her free hand.

“Oh, _monsieur_! You flatter me. Josephine, darling, you must introduce me!”

Josephine cleared her throat and shot Dorian another Look. “May I present Lady Juliana du Bourcier, second cousin to the Comte de Varseilles.”

Dorian glanced at Cullen, who discreetly rolled his eyes and turned away. Dorian got the message loud and clear.

“My dear,” he said, addressing the Lady Juliana, “a beauty such as yours shouldn’t be hidden away out here where no-one can see! Surely, you’d like to accompany Josephine back into the ballroom? I do believe there would be many young men and women who would be vying for your attention.”

Lady Juliana twittered again. _Good girl_. “Oh, my! Why, aren’t you just the flatterer? I would rather like to return, but Lady Josephine mentioned something about introducing me to–”

“–the Inquisitor?” Dorian cut her off. “Indeed! Everyone is just dying to meet her. I’m sure Josephine can arrange for a moment of the Inquisitor’s time.”

By now Dorian was all but pushing the two of them off of the balcony and back towards the ballroom. And luckily, his distraction technique worked a charm. Lady Juliana positively squealed.

“Oh, is that _true_ , Josephine? Could you arrange that I speak with the Inquisitor? I thought she too busy for my attention, but I _had_ rather hoped to get in a word or two…”

And Josephine, lovely, accommodating Josephine, was helpless. “Well, of course, my Lady, I will see what I can do…”

She struck Dorian with one last murderous glare over her shoulder before she escorted Lady Juliana back into the ballroom.

When the doors closed, Dorian immediately grinned. Cullen clapped his hands together in marvel and laughed.

“You truly work magic, Dorian,” he said, pouring them both some of the wine.

“No magic this time, Commander. Just my endless amounts of patience, charm, and good looks.”

Dorian took the glass Cullen handed him and smiled. Cullen smiled back, warmly.

“You know, I thought for a minute there I’d be forced to turn down someone else wanting to dance. You really saved me. I’m at a loss in these places. Templars don’t learn how dance, you know?”

Dorian feigned shock, whereas the truth was he’d expected as much.

“Truly, the South is barbaric. You never had an interest?”

“I never thought I’d need it. Like I said, I never even thought I’d be _here_. Tonight. But now, I somewhat wish I _had_ learnt.”

Dorian’s interest piqued. “Oh? And why, pray tell, is that?”

Cullen flushed. “Ah…because I’d rather like to ask you to dance, Ser Dorian.”

Dorian almost choked on his wine. He was drunk. It must be the only explanation. Why else would he have just thought he’d heard Cullen Rutherford ask him for a dance? The man could barely ask the serving staff at Skyhold to bring him fresh water for bathing. Perhaps he had a fever.

Dorian clumsily pulled off his gloves and reached up to brush his fingers against Cullen’s temple. At first, he started, confused, but didn’t pull away. Dorian frowned and pressed gently, but felt no unusual warmth from Cullen’s brow.

“Dorian. What in the world are you doing?” Cullen was amused, and still blushing, something which Dorian did not fail to notice.

“Well, you see, I thought I just heard you ask me to dance, and I thought to myself: Dorian, this man is either drunk, ill, or terribly confused. So, to answer your question, I’m checking for a temperature.”

Cullen laughed, and in one swift moment, caught the hand against his forehead with his own, pulling it down and away, and subsequently drawing the two of them closer together.

“I’m _fine_ , Dorian, stop fussing,” Cullen said, and then his eyes widened, as he realised he’d drawn Dorian’s hand – wrapped in his own – against his chest, and as a result they were near nose-to-nose. “I… shouldn’t have asked.”

“Are you joking?” Dorian answered, a little breathlessly, the warmth of the Commander pressed so close against him altogether quite distracting. “I feel as if I’ve been waiting for you to ask me since we met.”

And for a moment, they just stood there, chest to chest, with his hand in Cullen’s, neither one daring to break eye contact. Dorian bit his lip. Cullen made no moves to step away. Something heavy hovered in the air, and Dorian, desperate to disrupt it and with no willpower left to resist, ducked his head to kiss Cullen.

Only, their lips never met. In that second the door to the balcony was thrown open and Lavellan stormed out, in time to see Cullen pull sharply away from Dorian at the sudden commotion. As always, the Inquisitor had atrocious timing.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She shot Dorian a look that said she knew she was, but that this was important, and it couldn’t wait. “Dorian, I need your help.”

Dorian could have screamed. However, he understood how this might further and more importantly _permanently_ dampen the mood, so merely forced a smile instead.

“Of course, Inquisitor. That’s why I’m here.”

“Any news?” Cullen asked, with stiff politeness.

“Hopefully, there is about to be. I’ll report back once Dorian and I investigate.”

The Commander nodded. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”

Dorian was pulled back into the throng of the ballroom and cast a final, longing glance over his shoulder as the doors to the balcony swung shut behind them, leaving Cullen outside, alone. The moment the Commander was out of earshot, Dorian whipped round, tightening his grip on Lavellan’s hand.

“Are you mad?” he whined, as she dragged him across the ballroom and into the vestibule. “I _thought_ you were supposed to be playing matchmaker this evening. And it was going so _well_ , too.”

“I was, but there’s been a change of plans,” Lavellan said matter-of-factly. “There’s something going down in the servant’s quarters. Murder.”

“Typical.” Dorian threw up his arms in exasperation as the Inquisitor dropped his hand and began pulling out her daggers as they approached the servants’ entrance. “And murder is supposed to make Orlesian balls _more_ entertaining. The irony.”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

“You had better.”

The Inquisitor thrust his staff into his hands as Cassandra joined them, unsheathing her own blade alongside Sera who knocked an arrow roughly against her bow. Dorian rolled his eyes, and then his shoulders, readying his staff as the Inquisitor opened the door.

It took almost an hour to wrap up business in the servants’ quarters. Lavellan had been right, annoyingly so, that something had been happening in the shadows of the palace while their backs were turned. To be frank, Dorian was happy to lend his aid, but his mind had been on Cullen the entire time. The moment had been lost. If he went back now, the man would be surrounded by nobles all competing for his attention. Maker damn it all. He’d had the perfect opportunity, but at exactly the wrong time. Of course. Because nothing in his life ever went according to plan.

When Lavellan at last released him of his obligations, he returned to the ballroom somewhat urgently, eyes scanning the crowd of Orlesian nobles for the stark red uniforms of the Inquisition. Josephine, he spotted, chatting amicably with her sister, and Leliana, smiling and laughing all whilst slipping daggers in the dark. But where was the Commander?

Dorian made his way back to the balcony they’d shared. He hardly expected Cullen to still be there, but it was worth a shot. He almost anticipated finding a young Orlesian couple in flagrante where he and the Commander had been only an hour before, but when he threw open the door, there was Cullen, still leaning against the balustrade, as if Dorian had never left.

“You’re still here.”

He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. Cullen turned around and smiled. “Yes. I’m still here. And you came back.”

“I came back.”

Dorian’s eyes dropped to the bottle of wine he’d left behind. It was half-gone, but Cullen looked no worse for wear. In fact, in this light, in that outfit, Dorian thought he looked more beautiful than ever. Oh, he wanted to do terrible, awful things to that man, in the best possible way. He wanted to leave bruises on that delicate Ferelden skin. And in equal measures, he never wanted to hurt him again. He wanted to hear the other man say his name over and over again until his voice was ragged and his breath hitched in his throat. And he wanted to lie next to him and run his fingers through his hair and tell him he’d never have to be alone again.

A wave of emotion hit Dorian all at once and far too fast. He made a soft little noise of distress and took a step back. Cullen noticed.

“You’re leaving?”

Dorian almost laughed. “Maker, no.”

He closed the gap between them in a matter of seconds, drawing Cullen close against him with one hand at his waist, while the other went to the back of his head. Cullen didn’t resist, in fact, he was the one to kiss first – soft, and so delicate Dorian wanted to sob. He almost didn’t want to return the gesture. What was it his father had said? He ruined everything he touched. This was one thing he didn’t want to lose.

At his moment’s hesitation Cullen withdrew, worried. “Did I do something wrong?”

Dorian shook his head. “Oh, my dear Commander. The furthest from it.”

“Then… you don’t want to.”

“Wrong again.”

Cullen sighed. “You’ll need to give me a clue.”

Dorian dipped his head and kissed Cullen, slowly, with feeling, tracing his patterns across the skin on the back of his neck with his fingers and feeling the other man shiver in response. When he pulled away, both of them were a little breathless, Dorian’s heart thudding in his chest. It had been a damned long time since he’d felt this way about someone. And to think he’d almost given up on the Commander. What in the world was he thinking?

Well, all Dorian could think of right _now_ was how desperately he wished to go somewhere more private, his breeches indubitably too tight and altogether too warm to think of absolutely anything else. It was all well and good making out with Cullen in the shadows of the balcony, but what if someone were to stumble upon them again? Or worse – seek them out for more Inquisition-related antics? As much as Dorian adored Lavellan, he would not forgive her a second time if she interrupted what was turning out to be one of the most eventful nights of his life.

“I spotted an empty guest wing as we entered the palace, off to the right,” Dorian managed in between fervent kisses. “I don’t think anyone would mind, do you?”

“Guest wing?” Cullen looked a little confused. “Why would we–”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and the Commander realised his insinuation. “Ah! Yes. I… would like that.”

“You would?”

“I do hope so.”

Dorian chuckled, and slipped his hand down from Cullen’s waist to entwine their fingers together. They made for the door to the ballroom, pushing out into the throngs of people, hand in hand. Their entrance did not go unnoticed. Several heads spun their way, and Dorian felt, for a brief, shining moment, utterly invincible. _Yes,_ he thought _, all you heathens wanted to get your grubby little paws on the Inquisition’s Commander. And who did he choose? The necromancer from Tevinter._

Dorian beamed as he led Cullen through the crowds, glancing back only briefly to check on the Commander, who was smiling like a fool, and still blushing like one, too. He didn’t want Cullen to feel uncomfortable, them parading through the gathering like they were, but he’d be damned if he didn’t rub it in the smug faces of these Orlesian nobles that the most beautiful man in Halamshiral tonight had chosen _him_. Not them, him.

The thought made him giddy.

They emerged into the vestibule and cut down into the out-of-bounds guest wing of the palace, Cullen smothering a laugh as they tripped over one of the scarlet rugs by the door. The first room they tried the door of was mercifully empty. Oh, and look at that – an enormous, gilded double bed. Perfect.

The moment the door shut behind them Dorian spun to pull Cullen closer to him, hands going to undo the sash about his waist and subsequently use it to tug them over to the bed. Cullen was a little breathless, fingers fumbling over the buttons to Dorian’s uniform as the two of them hit the sheets, Dorian first. It was only when he managed to get Cullen’s clothes to his waist did he realise: the man was covered in scars. His torso was a constellation of old wounds and twisted flesh from knives and magic alike. His mind recalled what Leliana had told him of the Commander’s time at the Circle, and wondered if this was the result.

“Dorian?”

He decided to ignore his thoughts and instead peppered Cullen’s neck and jaw with warm, ardent kisses, kisses he hoped would somehow make up for what the man had been through long ago.

“Yes?”

“Earlier, you called me something.”

“I did? I don’t recall.”

“ _Amatus_ , was it?”

Dorian’s pace slowed.

“Is that something in Tevene? What does it mean?”

“Well, roughly, if translated into your pitiless Ferelden tongue – ‘my love’, or, ‘my heart’. I get it confused.”

Cullen drew back, just a little, just enough to send little flutters of worry through Dorian. Too much, too fast. He’d knew it’d been a mistake, but there was little else he could have done. If he’d lied, Cullen would have found out its true meaning eventually. It was better he found out from him than someone else.

“And you meant that?”

Dorian sighed. “Of _course_ I did, but I understand if–”

Cullen kissed him hard, teeth nipping at his lower lip, fingers scrabbling to undo the last of his clothing. Dorian let him, too surprised to think twice. He didn’t question his actions, instead, clambered back further onto the bed, giving Cullen the space to overlap his waist as the last of their robes hit the floor.

“I take it–” Dorian said, breath hitching slightly as Cullen’s mouth found the curves of his jaw, the hollows of his throat, and headed south “–this means that my earlier assumptions on your preferences were incorrect?”

Cullen answered came murmured from somewhere against the skin of his stomach. “Love is not a word thrown around lightly. I never said I had a preference for anything, not once. It’s feelings that matter to me.”

“My, Commander, that was almost profound. Had I not called you _amatus_ , then, would you currently be in such a state of fervour?”

“Dorian, I’ve been waiting to hear that from you for a painfully long time. The word in itself had nothing to do with it.”

“No, I rather suppose not,” Dorian managed, before all he could utter was a sharp and amatory gasp, and his fingers gripping the bedsheets hard enough to tear the rich Orlesian silks beneath them.

Somewhere beyond the guest wing, the Inquisitor uncovered the assassin behind the Celene’s downfall, whilst crowning Gaspard as the new Emperor, with Briala pulling his strings from the shadows. Commander Cullen, and Ser Dorian, however, would hear nothing of this revelation until much further into the night, when they returned to the ballroom a little brighter and a whole lot more content than they had done so before.


End file.
